Celebrity Verses Poetry: Michael Jackson HOLOGRAM

Help Me, Phony Wan Digi-glow Beam, You’re My Only Hope

Oh glorious day! He has returned from Elysian Fields, a pixel angel, salvaging our organic cage-free souls with the glory of gigabytes!

Verily, I speak of our king of undead pop: THE HOLOGRAM! Our digital Jesus resurrected from derision two years banish-ed in servers and hive mind binary alchemy turning Tupac into MJ, blessing cyborg Shakur with the ignorance of hearing his music Broadway-ified— only bones must roll in graves for Julliard hip hop and jazz hands.

But let us not forgot this latest incarnation— our Jackson One undead, again, more silicon than Thriller, less cackling and more guffaw. A Second Life character come to roost on the memory of vitiligo Peter Pan.

Let us program our own second comings, our creepy computer cascade into the hive mind of digital remembrance. Make mine that wry bitch in the corner of the party, snarking, scotch in hand, at the bad canapés at my own wake.